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  *

  The gardens were not perhaps at their best, but it was peaceful and she made the best of it to calm her mind and her heart. She ached for her son and even this child inside her that she had yet to meet. Would the child be fair like Lorcan? Luminous golden hair and cool blue eyes? In a way, she hoped not. Lorcan’s beauty wasn’t something she needed to be reminded of each day.

  Deep in her heart, she feared that she would not love this child as much because of the complications of its origins, but equally, she knew that wasn't true. She would fall in love with him or her as soon as their eyes met, even if this child was an exact copy of its father. Hopefully, that would not pose dangers of transference when it came to the larger, infinitely more dangerous version.

  Rising from her bench, she moved along the pond. What were the chances that he was observing her? Maybe she needed to find some other garden to use as she couldn't quite escape her problems if he sat above her and watched her, even if it meant trudging along endless corridors of the citadel. There was no sign of a head in the windows of his apartments, though.

  Maybe if her situation was stable now, she could consider bringing Tabain back. The person seeking to harm her—correction the person seeking to harm her the most—had been eliminated. But it hadn't been Amethyst that had made Ashra send Tabain away; it had been Raufasger and his irrational and murderous temper.

  If she kept Tabain out of sight, maybe he would be safe, but she knew she was being selfish. Tabain would be accessible if Raufasger sought to hurt her in one of his tempers. Raufasger was more reasonable given time to calm down, which made Tabain safer at the estate, away from the immediacy of Raufasger's outbursts.

  It was getting cold standing in the wind coming off the plains of the valley. Being stuck in the citadel, one often forgot that there was a world outside. It was so absorbing with its dangers, despair and victories. Breathing deeply in the fresh air, Ashra decided to return to her apartments.

  In passing, she noted that Mr. Liesdal's door was closed as she walked past and she continued up the stairs. The empire celebration had been announced for a few days' time, and hopefully, Mr. Liesdal had taken her advice and was conducting his experimentation somewhere more safe.

  Reaching her floor, Ashra was distracted by a noise down the hall. Her heart sped up, knowing who it was likely to be, and any confrontation between them these days was highly charged and uncomfortable. Who was she fooling? Any dealings between them had been highly charged since the day she'd arrived—even the intimacy that had been, which could only be described as explosive.

  But it wasn't Lorcan; it was Fiedra, to Ashra's surprise. She wore yellow, which did suit her skin tone well, and she carried a black fan in her hand. "Lady Greve," she said in her sweet voice.

  The fact that she was here and walking in this direction, meant that she was walking away from Lorcan's apartments. Something ugly reared inside Ashra, and she attributed it to disgust. Perhaps it was loathing at Lorcan's taste, and not just for the fact that Fiedra was married. But then loyalty had never featured in Lorcan's marriage. Why should she be surprised if he didn't respect loyalty in other marriages? Not that Fiedra had ever professed by word or action to be a particularly devoted wife.

  "Lady Vaultier, I hope I find you well this morning."

  "Quite."

  Images of Fiedra and Lorcan in bed tried to invade Ashra's mind, but she pushed them away. With a tight smile, she gave Fiedra a nod, hoping the woman would pass as quickly as possible. Maybe these two deserved each other, she thought.

  Fiedra walked and then stopped again, partially turning to consider Ashra—obviously wanting to say something. "He hasn't given up, you know," she stated.

  Well, that was rich, coming from the person he'd just had a tryst with. Was she consoling him on the end of his marriage, perhaps? Revulsion tightened Ashra’s throat. "So I have heard," she said coldly. "Hopefully you can distract him."

  "Me?" Fiedra said with a tinkling laugh. "Oh, do you think there is something between us? That is precious. Jealous? Maybe things will be easier for Lorcan than expected."

  Ashra crossed her arms.

  "No, we've been speaking of you, actually. Strategizing. He's quite obsessed, you know. Can speak of nothing else."

  "Obsessed with having his way."

  "Perhaps. Don't take him for a stupid man."

  "Care to share?" Ashra asked.

  Fiedra laughed. She clearly was enjoying this. "Where would be the fun in that, but I think he's hit the mark this time. He thinks so, too."

  "He hasn't managed so far."

  "Yet you did spread your legs for him, didn't you? More than once, I’ve heard."

  Oh, wonderful, Lorcan had been talking about their unfortunate assignations to one of the biggest gossips at court.

  "He is banking on that you will again," Fiedra continued, "and judging by how jealous you were just now, seeing me leaving his apartments, I reckon he has an excellent chance."

  "I was not jealous. I would welcome him finding distraction somewhere."

  "Believe me, he is not distracted. Couldn’t be further from the truth. I would say he has a singular focus. Ta," Fiedra said with a limp wave of her fan.

  Ashra felt like swearing, but she kept her calm until Fiedra had sashayed away, still laughing. Oh, how she despised that woman. But what she hated more was the idea that Lorcan now had a plan. From what Fiedra said, it sounded like seduction was his chosen way. The saddest part was that she was susceptible. Equally, it wasn't going to get her to say yes, even if she at some point was weak and relented—not that she was going to.

  Chapter 11

  The celebration was held on the south lawn, a vast expanse outside the walls of the citadel itself. A feast had been prepared and entertainers of all kinds performed during the evening, including fire dancers with their roaring flames across the night sky. There were even palm readers in red, velvet tents.

  All glittered, but up close, there was a shabbiness to all the costumes of the entertainers, a harshness in their eyes. Ladies and lords mingled, enjoying the spectacle, adding color and laughter to the whole affair. Raufasger had outdone himself. It was the finest evening she had experienced at court so far.

  Ashra watched as a half-naked man with glistening skin swallowed a sword, his chest oiled and light played across him as he moved. Further along, there were a couple of contortionists—twins or sisters by the look of them. Music played with a heavy beat, almost anodyne in its rhythmic drums. The night had an almost otherworldly quality—the kind of night Ashra knew to be wary of. She was not free to leave the realities of this place behind or to forget herself in the festivities. Too much trouble had ensued last time.

  With interest, she walked around and watched the entertainment. How she would have enjoyed this had Torunn been with her. He had appeared in her thoughts quite a bit of late—how she missed him, missed being married to him. Although, Torunn would never have brought her here. Throughout their time together, he'd sought to protect her. Under the longing, there was also an anger that he hadn't shared the burden with her. She was strong enough. She'd more than proved that. Why hadn't he recognized that, believed in her?

  Familiar faces laughed and drank. It was a night for relaxation, and for celebration—even if Ashra struggled to celebrate Raufasger and his achievements. To the people of court, and the broader Naufren population, he was the protector of their wealth and privilege, even if, as Amethyst had said, they were all sheep, doing anything he told them to. Then again, the price for not complying was unduly harsh.

  By the mood of the celebration, she knew there would be drinking that night, loss of inhibitions spurred by scantily clad performers and maybe because it felt as though they were actually away from the citadel for once.

  "Lady Greve." Lorcan was there beside her and she turned to him. He was wearing a heavier coat to guard against the colder winds, lined with fur. The chance of running into him had probably been high, and now it seemed h
e had his next strategy in place for dealing with her. Was he about to unfurl it on her?

  "Lord Lorcan,” she said as greeting.

  "Are you enjoying the evening?"

  "I am," she said honestly. Provided you don't ruin it for me.

  "What had caught your imagination?"

  "Hmm, perhaps the fire dancers."

  "There is a certain sensuality to fire—controlling a dangerous element, one that wishes to burn us to the core if it had its way."

  "Fire doesn't wish. It just is," she stated.

  "If you say so. I have always feared fire."

  "I didn't think you feared anything."

  "Only a fool doesn't fear. But tonight is for seeking pleasure," he said as if changing the subject.

  "Then you must go seek yours. Don't let me hold you up."

  "Perhaps I have found where I want to be."

  "Are you seeking to flatter me into accepting your suit?" Ashra said with a raised eyebrow.

  "I haven't actually put my suit toward you yet."

  "Ah, well, then, let's play games."

  "No games, Lady Greve." He was looking away, standing with his hands clasped around his back. The line of his throat was exposed to her, pale and strong.

  "Really? I ran into Lady Vaultier in the hall yesterday and she said that you had settled on your new strategy."

  "So I have," he admitted, returning his attention to her. There was no leering superiority in his expression, just the blankness he often did. What did that mean? It was infuriating, because he only conveyed what he wanted to—no more, no less.

  "Well, good luck."

  "I won't need luck. The thing with defeating an enemy is knowing their weaknesses."

  "And you know mine?"

  "I do, and I will use them to get what I want."

  Ashra snorted. "I would like to see you try."

  "No, you won't, but you will get it all the same."

  "And what is this great weakness of mine that you will seek to leverage?"

  "Emotions."

  "Emotions," she repeated, a little incredulously. "You seek to use my emotions against me?"

  "No, I seek to use mine."

  "You don't have emotions."

  "Granted I have tried very hard to suppress them. They have categorically been starved into nothingness, I admit. But I realize, Lady Greve, that only my suffering will defeat the defenses you have placed against me."

  He was mad. "Squeezing out a tear isn't going to sway me, Lord Lorcan."

  "I'm not an idiot. I know that pretense emotions would never convince you. They have to be real. Hence, I have to dig out my black little heart from where I've buried it and give it to you."

  "What makes you think I will accept?"

  "Because you can't help yourself. Once I awaken that longing—the longing for my wife and my family, I don’t think you can help but to feel it."

  Ashra could only stare at him, wondering if he was mad, but knew better than that. He was serious and he believed every word he said. Longing. A chard of pain twisted her heart because she knew what longing was. It ached like a hungry ghost, never able to find relief. She also noted that he’d used the word wife, which felt wrong in so many ways. "I am not your wife."

  "I already consider you to be. It is my child you carry."

  The audaciousness of what he was saying was astounding. "Your heir, you mean."

  "Does it disturb you so much to think that it could mean more to me?" He stepped closer, reaching out his hand to her bump. She shouldn't let him, should push him away. His hand was firm against the velvet of her dress. It had actually been a long time since he'd touched her, and so intimately. "That is my child," he repeated, his eyes lingering lower. "If you require me to love it, then I will love it, and I will suffer if you keep it from me." His eyes returned to her.

  "You are trying to blackmail me."

  He smiled slowly. "Absolutely." His hand was still on her, the touch radiating heat along her skin. "Naturally, it is a strategy that carries some risk, but it is perhaps those same risks that are the key to its success."

  "And what risks are those?"

  "I must expose what I have always guarded, disclose the means to hurt me. Perhaps even worse. A bit perverse, in a sense, isn't it, Lady Greve? To defeat you, I have to arm you with the weapon to destroy me."

  "If there is a heart for you to uncover, that is," she said, trying to make light of this conversation, but it didn't reflect the uncomfortable lump in her throat. An unfortunate side effect was that this left her feeling vulnerable as well, because he was spot on. True emotions from Roisen Lorcan would bite, but did she believe it was possible? She hoped not.

  "We will find out." His hand slipped away from the intrusive touch that had left her feeling so vulnerable. Why had she let him touch her? Because there was some part of her that felt he had the right, even if she was never going to give the child to him. Maybe there was something perverse in her that wished he could feel a connection with this child—for his sake.

  The fact that he was going to use this, to deliberately pursue it for his own objectives was beyond disturbing. And to inform her of it was pure arrogance. Roisen Lorcan was a dangerous creature when stone-cold calculating. What would he be like driven by emotions? It couldn't happen. It wasn't in his nature.

  Ashra watched as he walked away. He had successfully left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, with a handprint still glowing warm on her belly. She should not have let him do that. It wasn't his right. If only she could fully convince herself of that. There had always been that small part of her that had wanted him to understand the fruits of love—the kind of love she had shared with Torunn.

  Licking her lips, she tried to reorganize her thoughts. He'd only told her what he intended to do and had already wreaked havoc inside her. What would he be like if he actually achieved it? It was his coldness that kept her heart closed to him. Him pining for her, wanting her would be unbearable. How could she keep her heart closed if he ached for her, or this child? She had to. There was too much to lose. It didn't matter. He would never be able to do it. It would be too taxing for him.

  Fiedra had been right: he was clever, much too clever, and he knew her too well. It would undermine every one of her defenses. In all, he was the consummate player, even if he would harm himself to achieve what he wanted. This alone she had to keep in mind, like a mantra. This was all to get what he wanted.

  Chapter 12

  An invitation to tea sat on Ashra's breakfast table. It was from Fiedra and at first, Ashra had dismissed it with a shake of her head, but perhaps it was prudent to keep an eye on those women. Fiedra wouldn't have sent an invitation without a reason, so there was something she wanted.

  If this had to do with Amethyst's fate, she didn't dare guess. Somehow, she didn't see Fiedra as sentimental about a lost friendship. Then again, Ashra had seen Fiedra stab Amethyst in the back when she wasn't there to defend herself. It could have been that Fiedra saw the friendship as a prudent move, a precaution even—a way of keeping the volatile and destructive woman on side. It would be one way to keep safe from her barbs.

  But now they wanted something, and it wouldn't just be Fiedra. Her circle would be there as well, and maybe it was time to hear what these women were gossiping about. No doubt she had been the topic for long enough.

  Ashra decided that she would go. It would also serve as a distraction from Lorcan and his incessant ability to get inside her head. His proclamation the previous night had felt like a warning. Duly warned, she was. Still, what he'd said was utterly ludicrous. Him fall in love. It was an impossible feat.

  It wasn't something you can just decide to do, create feelings. The idea of a more volatile Lorcan, fueled by emotions, wasn't exactly appealing either. He was difficult enough to manage when he was stone-cold heartless.

  Had the women heard what he'd said? Had he told them? Was it part of his strategy having them chattering around her, pushing his cause? He would do somet
hing so despicable.

  Sighing, Ashra put her mug down. Her belly protruded slightly. This pregnancy was starting to show, a physical reminder of the link and quarrel between her and Lorcan for every single person that saw her. Everywhere she went, people would notice it. The ladies at Fiedra's afternoon tea would notice it.

  Taking her time, she walked over to her desk and wrote a quick reply. A pull of her bell and a page appeared, ready to take it back to Fiedra. There were other letters on her desk from her estate and she spent the next hour dealing with those.

  The need to see Tabain sat like an ache in her chest. She would send a request to Raufasger for permission to return. Things were stable. No one was actively targeting her, and until the day Lorcan managed to produce some emotions, she was relatively safe from him as well. Her last missive was for Raufasger, but there was no calling whether he would agree or not.

  *

  After lunch, she dressed, putting on the finery needed for when she left her apartments. The gown she'd chosen was of white silk with light blue underskirt. It was sumptuous with pearl buttons and a square neckline. The dress itself was heavy, so it felt like what it was: armor.

  A maid came to assist with her hair, which needed to be dressed to suit the gown, but a little less formal than for an evening. Amongst Fiedra's set, fashion was an important topic. Ashra remembered back to the first time she'd gone to one of Fiedra's teas. How naïve she'd been and how adamant that displays of fashion were pointless.

  By necessity, she had changed so much, understood more deeply how things worked and how she fit into it—how to utilize it. In a way, she missed the person she had been. Although, in some ways, she hadn't changed at all. She hadn't fundamentally changed her values; she was just more wary of the people around her, their objectives and the duplicity they would engage in to achieve it.